


The Bee and the Serpent

by Leia_Naberrie



Category: Bridgerton (TV)
Genre: More characters will be added as the story goes along - Freeform, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-18 02:02:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28859277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leia_Naberrie/pseuds/Leia_Naberrie
Summary: "The bee and the serpent often sip from the selfsame flower."A whodunnit based on an AU version of the TV show. Romance, murder, mystery! Oh my!
Relationships: Daphne Bridgerton/Friedrich Wilhelm Ludwig von Preußen (1794-1863) | Prince Frederick of Prussia, Daphne Bridgerton/Simon Basset
Comments: 10
Kudos: 23





	1. The Library

“Please…”

“Shh… relax.” She could feel Simon’s words against her skin. She jerked, and the apology she uttered for almost kicking his face turned into a whine as his tongue did something. Inside her.

Oh heavens oh heavens oh heavens.

She felt his smile and suddenly, she badly wanted to kiss him.

“Come here.” She grabbed his chin, and pulled him to her.

His mouth mashed against her own and she could taste herself, and the thought of what he’d just been doing paralyzed her. It was a good thing that his tall, strong body bracketed hers against the ladder – she’d have bruises tomorrow and she won’t care – because she would have collapsed into a pool of sensation on the floor.

His hands were on her thighs, his fingers tracing the top of her stockings, but she was the one who pushed back his cloak, reached for his breeches.

She felt his body freeze. “Wait…”

“Please,” Daphne said, drawing him closer to her. “Please…”

He pulled back, and she was forced to open her eyes to look into his suddenly sober face. Her heart thumped as she gazed at the sheer perfection of his face. One day, she’d be able to look at him without first feeling like she was staring at the sun. Not today though. Not when she could still feel the imprint of his mouth down there.

She reached to kiss him, suddenly needing to taste him badly, but he held her shoulders in place.

“Are you sure?” he asked, a tiny frown between his eyes that didn’t quite belly his anticipation.

“Yes,” she muttered, not for the first time. Whatever misgiving or hesitation she had felt had long since been erased by his hands, and his clever, clever mouth, and the persistent burn that had been growing in her belly since the moment that she first laid eyes on him. If she didn’t have this man insider her, she would _die_. “Please…”

Simon kissed her, none too gently, his mouth bruising and taking and she revelled in it. It wasn’t until now, when she could feel his control slipping that she realized how much he’d been holding himself in check. She wanted him. She wanted this man. And damn the consequences.

When he entered her, she let out a cry that was quickly muffled by his kiss, and he kept kissing her as they rode all the way to completion.

She came down like a kite without wind, sensation beyond the bubble that was them finally seeping back to her mind. She could feel the cool draft coming underneath the door, the slow rocking of the ship deck beneath them, the low hum of the engines.

He was watching her when her eyes opened, and she smiled, blissful, content. His face was soft, his eyes almost melting with gentleness as he kissed her. It was gentle, slow.

Her hand slipped along the planes of his strong muscular back, and he shifted, gradually lowering down the legs she didn’t even remember wrapping around him to a rung on the ladder. She could feel his hands smoothing down the folds of her dress.

He broke the kiss with a smile, when she leaned forward, still wanting more, then he went down on his knees.

Her whole body spasmed with anticipation and he chuckled, and picked up her shoe.

Daphne blushed, giggled. “Don’t be horrid,” she said, pretending to kick him.

He caught her foot easily, and even that felt like a prelude to something more, as he slipped her feet one by one into her shoe. His grip on her ankle lingered a little longer than necessary and she almost started hoping he’d changed his mind before he pulled himself up.

He had adjusted his breeches, and his undershirt, before she had the presence of mind to step down from the ladder.

“You should… leave,” he said suddenly. He was fixing the cuffs of his coat, his gaze determinedly fixed from from her. “I will stay here until evening, so that there’s no chance of us being seen leaving together.”

Reality – cold and unwelcoming – slammed into her.

“Yes, yes, of course,” she said automatically. What she really wanted to ask was “when can I see you again?” But the words failed her.

She tried and failed to catch his gaze. He didn’t have the pretence of dressing up, so he just stood stiffly, his gaze straight and away from her own.

“It will be lunchtime soon. Your…” A flicker passed his face, so brief that if she hadn’t been hanging on his every word, watching his every expression, she won’t have noticed it. “… husband will be looking for you.”

She felt like if she had been standing in the field on a warm sunny day, and a sudden cold downpour fell.

Daphne swallowed. “Simon, look at me.”

She saw that micro expression pass over his face, and then slowly, like granite turning, he turned to stare down at her. The bleakness in his eyes could have been a mirror for her own.

“Simon…”

There was a distant gong.

He looked away. “You need to go now, your Highness.”

“Don’t call me that,” she said automatically, blinking hard. “Simon…”

This time, he turned away. She wanted to stay, to tug him back to her. To have him pull her into his arms and make her forget.

But all she could was say: “Tomorrow?”

“Daphne,” he whispered.

“Please,” she said.

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t say No.

She turned on her heel, her heart beating for an entirely different reason, and left the captain’s library.

* * *

Fritz was waiting in their room. He stood by the window, his arms folded in front of him, and his blond head bowed. 

When he looked up at her, and she saw the grief and gravity on his face, her heart turned inside her.

Later, she would tell herself that she felt guilt first. But the truth? What she felt was relief.

“Fredrick,” she said, dropping the diminutive because she had lost the right. “I didn’t mean to-” 

“Daphne,” he said heavily. “You don’t have to apologize.”

“I am sorry, I didn’t plan it, I promise,” she said quickly, wanting to get it out, wanting it out of the way, so that she could move past this to what she wanted. Because she could have it now, she could have him, and all she needed to do was let Fredrick know and then she could go back to …

… the telegram he was showing her.

“This came from London. I… I decided to wait here to give you the news. It matters not that you were late for dinner.”

“What?” she faltered, her mind spinning as it tried to reorient to what was happening versus what she had thought was happening.

“My dear Daphne,” he said heavily, and his arms went around her. “It is about your father.”

She tried not to stiffen on instinct (she found herself doing that more and more these days) and reached for the telegram.

The words blurred in front of her.

FATHER… BEE STING… PASSED… COME HOME…

She read them four times before they finally made sense.

“I am so sorry,” her husband whispered against her as she collapsed into his arms.

And even then, even in the middle of her grief, she couldn’t help wishing it was someone else who was holding her.


	2. Strange Death

Death was so strange.

As she sat at her old piano, her fingers learning a new tune of sorrow, Daphne tried to recall her dear Papa’s face but it was as if she was remembering an old, fond dream that she had as a child and could no longer recall in detail. It had barely been 2 months, but already she could feel herself losing him.

She watched her mother, Violet Bridgerton, who had always looked closer to Daphne’s age than her own, now seemed to have aged overnight. Her face was paler than Daphne ever remembered it, and like her father’s face, she couldn’t remember her mother’s smile.

“My lady, the Featheringtons are here to visit.”

Violet sighed, but didn’t get up when like a flock of colorful birds, the four Featherington ladies assembled into their parlor. As usual Lord Featherington was absent. After a first appearance, and then later at the funeral, he had not shown his face at Bridgerton House. One would have thought with all the times the late Viscount Bridgerton had bailed his neighbour out of his gambling debts, Lord Featherington would show more concern however paltry to the new widow and her children.

Daphne’s heart twisted at the thought of the children. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen Francesca smile. Or heard laughter from the nursery where Hyacinth and Gregory spent more time hiding their tears than playing.

“Pen!” Eloise cried, her face brightening up at the sight of Penelope, and she made a beeline to her friend, and in a moment, the two were tucked into a corner, whispering furiously.

Daphne envied her sister her companionship. The older Featherington girls and she had never got along – Daphne’s attempts to befriend them had been constantly rebuffed when she was younger, and she’d given up long before they changed their attitude. They were basically strangers. She’d never been as lucky as Eloise with finding other female companions. The nearest she had come to a friend had been Cressida Crowper. But that young lady, of late memory, had been more of Daphne’s rival than friend.

_“I never would have thought a Bridgerton would come to know such shame.”_

Those were the last words Cressida had ever spoken to her, Daphne remembered now. Daphne tried to remember Cressida that morning at the modiste. Her tall, blonde, cold beauty. Had her eyes been blue or grey? All Daphne could imagine was a blur. Her face had utterly vanished from Daphne’s memory. 

Death was strange.

She forced a smile at the older Featheringtons as they sat down beside her, and talked her way through the pleasantries by rote.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her mother do the same thing with Lady Featherington.

After the usual how-do-you-dos there was an awkward pause.

“Your hair-do is enchanting,” Phillipa finally said. “Is that the latest style in the Prussia ton?”

“Sister,” Prudence hissed.

“I wore it last season,” Daphne said, more amused than anything.

Apparently encouraged, Phillipa beamed. “We hoped to see the Prince.”

Prudence made a face, ostentatiously embarrassed but it was clear from her bright eyes that she was just as invested in Daphne’s answer.

Daphne for her part, stiffened. She was conscious that besides the two sisters beside her, Penelope Featherington’s head had lifted from across the room, and even her mother and Lady Featherington had paused in their low toned conversation to look in her direction, waiting for her answer.

“He couldn’t stay long after the funeral. He had some business in court that couldn’t be postponed.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t accompany him,” Lady Featherington declared.

Daphne gave her a stiff smile. “I needed to spend some time with my family.”

“If I was married to a Prince, he’d never leave my sight!” Phillipa declared, and Prudence nodded furiously.

 _Would you like to trade?_ Daphne thought.

“You’re still on your honeymoon, dear,” Lady Featherington continued. “No one would have thought twice about it. Isn’t that so, Violet?”

Daphne’s mother gave the other woman a frosty smile that went over her head. “Quite. His Highness has been very understanding. I’m grateful for Daphne’s company.”

“Yes, of course, of course,” Lady Featherington said breezily. “Lord knows what you have to make do with Anthony. Not that we believe a word of what that gossip monger Whistledown writes about his Lordship.”

“Mmm hmmm,” Prudence said, sagely. “Not a single word.”

“This nonsense about an opera singer is no more than malicious lies.”

“My brother has been taking his responsibilities as Viscount very seriously,” Daphne snapped. “Unlike some other Lords I won’t care to mention.”

There was a cold pause, as the visitors finally got a clue.

Lady Featherington gave her a cold look. “Quite,” she said. She put down her cup of tea. “Well, girls, we still have one more appointment before noon.”

“We do?” Phillipa asked. Then muffled a squeal when Prudence poked her. “Yes, of course, we do.”

“Mama, can I not play a little longer with Eloise?” Penelope piped up.

“Ladies do not play,” her mother retorted.

Phillipa gave Daphne a commiserating smile. “We’re so sorry about your dear Papa. Do let us know when the Prince returns – _Ouch!_ ” She squealed again, glaring at Prudence.

Like a squall of colorful birds, they fluttered out of the parlour. Lady Bridgerton watched them leave, then got up, unsteady.

“Mama!” Daphne cried, rushing to her mother’s side. Violet’s face was so pale, blue veins that Daphne had never noticed before stark against her skin.

“Nothing, dearest. I just need to lie down for a bit.” Her blue gaze steadied on Daphne’s face and for a moment, the old spirit seemed to seep into her eyes, and she pressed her palm against her daughter’s cheek. “Thank you, Daphne. Whatever would I do without you?”

Blinking away sudden tears, Daphne watched her mother leave.

Eloise threw her book against the wall.

“Eloise!”

“I hate her! I hate her!”

Daphne sighed. “I know Lady Featherington wears on one’s nerves, but she means well, in her own way.”

Eloise scoffed. “Not _her_. Who cares about her? I mean Lady Whistledown.”

Daphne blinked. “What?”

“How can you stand for it? The secrets she reveals. The lies she spreads? Remember Miss Thompson.”

“You mean Lady Crane?”

“Her life was all but ruined. She nearly took her own life, Daphne!”

“What happened to Lady Crane was an unfortunate accident,” Daphne said, the lie coming out automatically. The memory of Marina Crane’s pale lifeless face swam in front of her. A harrowing ride through the darkness to get the doctor. Simon…

Daphne recoiled out of the memory.

“Don’t treat me like a fool, Daphne.” Eloise snapped.

Daphne flinched, more shocked than hurt.

“I know about Colin and Gretna Green.” Eloise’s voice – thankfully – dropped but her words were still clear as Daphne gaped. “I know about the baby.”

Daphne walked to her sister and grabbed her by the hand, hard. “Have a care, Sister,” she hissed. “Walls have ears.”

Eloise yanked her hand back. Her eyes were narrowed. “Then I will find those ears, and _I will rip them out!_ ”

  
“Rip whose ears out? Surely not our own, dear sister!”

Both girls jumped at the sudden voice that filled the room. They turned to stare at the two men that stood by the door, still doffing off their hats. Eloise’s face broke into a smile as she made a beeline for Benedict, bypassing her oldest brother so neatly it was obviously deliberate. “Brother, I am in need of a distraction!”

“Then I am just the man you need!” Benedict said with cheer that was almost not forced. Over Eloise’s head, he and his other siblings exchanged a silent exchange then with another forced laugh, he locked arms with Eloise and left the room.

Daphne and her brother, Anthony Bridgerton, the new Viscount Bridgerton watched them leave.

“Was she talking about me, Sister?” Anthony sounded resigned.

“No.”

“Then who?”

“Leave it, Anthony. I refuse to come between whatever riff is broiling between you and our sister.”

“She hates me,” Anthony said, dropping into a chair. His face looked more worn than Daphne had ever seen it. “As do Colin and Francesca. The only reason why Greg and Hyacinth haven’t turned on me is because they barely know any better. Benedict would, too, if he could afford to. As it stands, without him, I would be completely at a loss as to how to manage our late Father’s affairs.”

Daphne said nothing. She dropped back to her piano seat, and picked out her tune.

After a long time, Anthony spoke. “Do you hate me, too, Sister?” His voice sounded despondent.

Daphne didn’t pause, thinking with the music. Did she hate her brother for what happened to her father? If he’d been a different kind of firstborn son – a _better_ kind of firstborn son, and had taken charge of their family’s business when he came of age instead of raking across the continent with…

Well, maybe their father won’t have been working so hard the months, nay years, leading up to his death. Perhaps if Papa hadn’t just recovered from a terrible bout of influenza, he would have more easily withstood the bizarre bee sting reaction that took his life. Yes, the doctor had claimed that there was nothing that would have changed the outcome. That the allergic reaction would have had the same outcome, regardless of the former Viscount’s state of health. But Daphne hadn’t been sure how much of that was truth, and how much was comfort to the grieving widow and her now fatherless children.

She knew what all her other siblings believed though.

Anthony hadn’t even been in England when Papa died. Daphne, still on her honeymoon, had arrived long before he did. And then when he showed up, barely sober at their father’s funeral…

But that made Daphne think about other things – _other persons_ – and her mind shied away quickly.

Perhaps she should hate Anthony for their father’s death. But there was no point because she hated him for something else.

“It was not your fault,” she said now. “And you are doing your best now to take care of our family.”

There was a long pause, broken only by the melancholic notes from the piano.

“Mother wants me to give up Sienna.”

Daphne sighed. “Brother, I refuse to discuss your mistress with you.”

Anthony scoffed. “You’re a married woman now, Sister. I can speak plainly to you for Heavens’s sake. Benedict won’t talk to me outside business. Colin won’t talk to me at all…”

 _Perhaps my siblings are onto something there,_ Daphne thought, hitting her notes a little harder.

“…and Hastings has buried himself in the bowels of Clyvedon. _Bloody Hell, Daf!_ ”

His shout was barely heard over the smash of discordant notes as Daphne’s foot slammed on the pedal, just as her fingers seemed to lose co-ordination on the keys.

“Apologies,” she said quickly, her face bent low. She could hear blood rushing past her ears, and she tried to steady her suddenly fast breathing.

“Are you out of practice?” Her brother asked, thankfully not making any awkward connection. “No pianos in Prussia?”

“You amuse me, Brother,” Daphne murmured, still not playing. She didn’t trust herself to do so. She took a deep breath, made sure her words came out smooth, even. “It was kind of the Duke to attend the funeral.”

“Jolly old Hastings. Standing in for his degenerate friend,” Anthony said bitingly.

“Brother, I didn’t mean-” She sighed. “I just wondered where the Duke has been these past weeks.”

“Busy doing the job I’m only just learning.” He paused dramatically. “Being his father’s heir.” He sighed and rubbed his hand over his face. “When I remember how much I mocked him for not being in London for the season, I feel an utter fool.”

“Enlightenment comes with old age,” She murmured, almost absent-mindedly. She was remembering last season.

Anthony glared at her, then his face dissolved into a smile. “A year ago, I’d have chided you for impertinence.” His younger sister scoffed. “But I can’t afford to alienate any more siblings so I will just remind you that Princess or not, I will always be your eldest brother.”

Daphne hesitated, still not quite meeting his gaze. She wanted to ask. She had always wanted to ask. And her usually discerning brother was probably too preoccupied to decipher her intentions.

“But the Duke did return for last year’s season,” she said, as casually as she could. “He was at my wedding, I’m sure. Furthermore, I remember bumping into him” – it took everything inside her not to flush the shade of a ripe tomato – “ _meeting_ him at the Trowbridge Ball a few days before.”

Honestly, her own brazenness amazed her.

Anthony stared at her, and for a moment, her breath seized. _He can’t know. No one has ever known. Unless Simon told. Simon would never tell._

_No one still alive has ever known._

But death was strange.

Then her brother started laughing.

“What?” Daphne asked, not at all reassured. “What is so amusing?”

He paused, leaning forward to speak, then collapsed back into the chair with another burst of laughter.

“I fail to see what is so amusing by my question, so I suppose you find _me_ comical…”

“Not you, Sister!” Anthony finally managed. “By troth, not you. It is just that I recalled why Hastings came for the season, and merriment overcame me.” He wiped away a tear. “Do you recall how early in the season, when your best choices were Weaver and that mama’s boy Hardy?”

“Papa,” she smiled wistfully at the memory, “thought them rather poor stock. But what does this have to do with-”

“That is what I am getting at, Daf. Hastings was here at Lady Danbury’s invitation. After the Prince was introduced to the ton. Surely, you remember how swift your courtship was?”

Daphne flinched. Yes, did she remember. Marry in haste. Repent at leisure.

Or as in her case, repent on your wedding day.

“Wait,” she said as a sudden, horrible thought struck her. “You can’t mean-”

“Lady Danbury wanted Hastings to meet…” His voice trailed off into a short chuckle. “…to meet you.” As his sister watched with increasing horror, he started laughing again. “She had the incredulous notion that _you and Hastings would make a good match!_ ” He howled out the last, and this time, he did fall to the ground, practically rolling with amusement at the thought. “Imagine the thought!”

“Yes,” Daphne said, her face almost breaking with the effort not to crumble. “Imagine that.”

He was laughing too hard to notice the look on Daphne’s face as she blindly left the room.

**Author's Note:**

> This is set in an alternate world to the TV show. The fatal bee sting that killed Lord Bridgerton didn't happen until a decade later. He was alive when Daphne had her first season and many things happened differently.


End file.
